


When In Rome

by itsbeautiful



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, And an instigator, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Chaos and bickering ensues, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Flirting, Hannibal just wanted a vacation, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Murder Husbands, Original Character(s), Peter and Elias, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Teasing, Will Graham is a Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsbeautiful/pseuds/itsbeautiful
Summary: This was honestly just a dumb idea that popped in to head as a warm up exercise/gift for my sweetheart patrons. Might write another little drabble chapter to go with it some day.
Relationships: Peter Moreau/Elias Svendsen, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter/Nigel (Charlie Countryman)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	When In Rome

“This isn’t wise. My husband will be here any minute.” 

“Foolish man, leaving the prettiest fucking thing on display for everyone to see. I had to stop. Gaze. Isn’t art meant to be appreciated? Admired.” Another replied, garish tattoo of a woman wriggling on a thick neck. “It would be a shame for us both to be alone.” 

Loud sighs clouded a palm print covered glass, ice clinking. “You are truly terrible.” 

“Incredibly fucking bad.” Freshly taped and bruised knuckles slid from a knee to a hip, thumbing a waistband. “The worst, darling Will. I would be more than willing to demonstrate if you need further proof.” 

Will shook his head. He snatched a cheap cigarette smoldering, inhaled once, and flicked it over broad shoulders. He left the palm where it was. Another slid along his jaw, brushing his scowl fondly. “It’s your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Nigel, _again_. You're asking for it.”

"Oh sweetheart." Nigel's sharp teeth glistened, gaze shining hungrily through a veil of smoke. He dragged the pad of a thumb along the arc of a rib beneath a shirt damp from heat. He relished a sharp intake of breath. How Will held his gaze defiantly, pupils dilating fury and curiosity, distinct flush of arousal seeping crimson beneath an open collar. "I never have to ask to be given what I want. It generally just succumbs. And with you in such a sensitive state..." His voice dipped with the path his palm was taking up an inseam, salacious smirk upturning. "It wouldn't take much."

The younger man clenched his teeth. " _Nigel._ I'm fucking warning you."

“Mmm, on your tongue my name sounds like sin. I bet you taste like it too.” Desert storm lifted, sparking electricity, zeroing in on something in the distance. “Blessed fucking be, two masterpieces in the same place. That sanctimonious piece of shit on high must be showing me some favor."

 _About damn time._ He only had to suffer a broken heart, near death, and gunshot wound to be worthy of it. 

"And just think, if you pursued more culture and less wallowing in the gutter, you could still be in His favor. Or at the very least, less divorced."  
  
Nigel turned a frigid snarl on the younger man. "Say it again and I'll break open that beautiful fucking face."

Will snorted and followed his gaze to a willowy figure trailing a garden path, art gallery looming in the shadowed distance. He looked pointedly away. Scanned milling tourist. He swung his right leg forcibly over a left and squeezed, hoping to dissuade perpetual craving that had remained without being properly sated for far too long. He forced the left corner of his mouth down and crunched ice loudly to smother a scoff.

“Angelic. Look at that ass.Think he’s a good Catholic boy, or just curious enough to be corrupted?” 

“Nigel—“ A shadow fell over them. “Ibanescu.” 

Nigel swiveled lazily, knees wide, and tipped his head back on a torso, smirking. “Who’s fuckin’ asking?”

Red glowed through narrow slits. “If you prefer hands to severed stumps, I suggest you desist.” 

“This one might be worth the—nnn.” 

Hannibal wrenched his forearm up, delicately cradling a whiskey and wine glass—an embrace between two men reuniting—thick pearl buttons cutting a windpipe, and waited patiently with a thin smile. Nigel stopped struggling, pale, sliding loose in a white iron wrought chair. 

Will swiped whiskey dripping in condensation from a fist, mouth disobediently twitching amusement, and drained it. It banged the table. He chuckled. His hair was snared, yanked forward, and jagged teeth scraped refreshment from his lips and tongue. He tipped his now empty glass when they parted in greeting. “Hannibal.” 

“My life.” Hannibal growled, sweeping up a wine glass, white knuckled grip easing. 

Nigel came to with a gasp, a curse, laughter resuming, dark undercurrent stirred by pure delight and victory. “Usually like my choking during fucking, not foreplay.” He winked at Will, who rolled his eyes, and darted out of murderous reach, grin crooked. “You know better than to leave your valuables unattended, Hannibal.” He bent, just close enough to graze an ear before sauntering off. “If I was touching, Will would be a lot more goddamn dirty then when you left him.”

Fire rimmed pupils flicked to Will. “Do you care to explain?” 

Will laughed low, humming, twisting his head to increase the sensation pricking scalp. Hannibal tightened his grip and he swallowed a low moan, reply wilting to breath. “Not entirely, so no.” 

The older man stared fervently at flushed parted lips, and took a seat, letting go with measured breaths. It took everything he had not to bare Will to his mouth, his hands, his cock. "It appears I have given you far too much leash over the years," He noted mildly, pausing to savor full bodied merlot. "An endeavor I will need to give my attention to thoroughly correcting."

A low hum replied. "That so?" Will leaned effortlessly forward, irises darkening, and swirled melting cubes idly. "And how do you suppose you will implement these corrections, Doctor Lecter? Or are you running out of ideas?"

His left palm twitched on a brass belt buckle. _How striking a contrast it would be. Hard leather slotted between your lovely lips._

“Three.” Hannibal snarled low warning over a glass rim. The number of times he had witnessed a hand that was not his roam beneath Will’s shirt unobstructed. That morning. The same amount Will would receive later. Heat coiled his belly. Well deserved fingerprints staining cheeks contributing to the boy's constant adjusting, uncomfortable no matter how he was seated. A fair price for continued infractions. He heard the sharp slap of skin, palm burning, Will’s inevitable, inescapable cries echoing all the sweeter to vaulted ceilings. The villa had the most lovely acoustics. “Though I suspect the count is higher given my cousin’s proclivities. I will have to begin removing body parts soon. His toes first I think. A kidney if he continues to offend. Perhaps yours as well, given how freely you seem to offer yourself up to others.”

Dark laughter echoed. Will rubbed his chin over Hannibal’s, eyes sparkling, friction curling heat and something other flickering. “Only if you don’t mind waking up in an ice bath later, angel.” 

The older man turned curtly, drumming his fingers once on a crossed knee to feign annoyance, as if his blood wasn't heating at every memory surfacing, glint of a blade in his beloved's palm. Will was clearly enjoying himself, the attentions received, from he and Nigel, an hourly battle to keep his focus solely on one of them.

It would not do. 

He found their vacation intruder looming, cigarette perched in a salacious grin, about a twenty yards away, cupping the cheek of a dusk rose Elias Svendsen.

“You introduced them?” He asked after another long swallow.

The younger man stared at wine stained lips. Will stretched, feline and quivering, toned body pliant and lazily twisting underneath the afternoon sun, glinting temptation. He flashed a wolfish grin. “Might have slipped my mind.” 

“ _William Lecter_.” He scanned for any sign of gleaming gold towering above the crowd. With a curt snap of waistcoat and jacket, Hannibal rose to save the poor sparrow before any real harm was done. To Nigel, that is. Not that he was morally opposed. He might even help. He would help. Gladly. By breaking all ten of the man's offending fingers. “They will cause a scene!” 

A hand shot forward. Silk hissed. Hannibal was pulled down by his tie, roaming palms sliding up his torso to pin him to a chair. Will’s dark gaze fell to wine stained lips once more, hunger shining, tone falling to a rough drawl. “Thought it might be a nice change of pace. And a decent distraction.”

“As opposed to what?” Hannibal asked, flat and disinterested, his heart anything but, speeding up, garnet liquid shuddering in a frail glass. 

“From being the one who gets punished.” Will rose, stretching arms above his head, glancing to his left, then his right, jersey hem hitching higher and higher to display the gauze white of a scar, his husband’s claim. It was magnificent in the light of day, pale and quivering, begging to be kissed. Licked. Bitten. Cut open and drank from. A low snarl darkened Hannibal's features. The younger man tipped suddenly, bracing the chair’s back, mouth twitching pleasure. He placed one knee, cushion sinking, teeth flashing. “Or hit in the fucking face.” 

He ought to reproach him. 

Crème linen pushed from broad shoulders, unfurling, crumpled and carelessly discarded. It would fall to the earth. Be smudged in certain ruin. He was sure of it.

“You are shameless," A hiss seeped from clenched teeth.

At the very least scold, a disapproving frown or tut of his tongue. 

A sapphire silk tie unraveled. Three buttons, a fourth, a fifth. The second knee bracketed perfectly creased trousers. 

Cerulean eyes sparkled. A rough palm slid in, fingertips skirting sensitive flesh. 

Hannibal inhaled a curse, drawn forward, pushing his chest into another caress, nearly purring. Delighted laughter chased his sunkissed cheeks. 

It was unbecoming of a man his age to be so easily swayed. Worse to reward such blatant manipulation. To encourage further disobedience. 

Though it was even a worse Fate to deny himself. They had scarcely a moment of peace since Nigel Ibanescu’s sudden arrival, and never quite departure, nearly two weeks ago at the summer villa. (A time of reprieve for them, and the boys who had followed to join, and yet Nigel had appeared at their doorstep as if some premonition had led him to Rome on a whim. Hot blooded Roma he was, Hannibal wondered if the dark magicks ran thick, or he was simply a demon summoned to instill chaos. He had been bleeding out from a gunshot wound at the time. It would have been poor form to refuse him.) 

He was, without a doubt, the most expendable and vile house guest, the thing of nightmares, Hannibal had ever had the displeasure of hosting. And allowing to live. (His _Wusthof_ knife set sharpened at eight a.m. every day without fail, ever at the ready.)

When not incessantly whining about his pain, Nigel entertained himself the following ways: 

1) Cigarettes ashed on priceless tapestry rugs, marble countertops, filling hundred thread count sheets. His battered brogues, worn inside, terrorizing velvet and leather furniture alike. His crystal tumbler, by some miracle never empty with only the finest whiskey carefully selected and procured for Will, sloshing precariously to the rim from the moment he woke till the moment he slept. 

2) In conscious hours, his vulgarities had become tedious. Obscenely fixated on Will, frothed poetic, waxing near romantic courting, despite numerous threats to be served as one of the many dinner courses. Nigel had always thrived, stealing what Hannibal cherished, from belongings as children, then friendships and tulip kissed sweethearts, as boys. 

3) His most grievous offense? Not allowing Hannibal a solitary second (he certainly could not leave the man to roam his home unattended, it would be set upon by fire, or ravaged by mud) to mold his seething frustration tinged with jealousy on his most prized activity to relieve stress: Will. Nigel had perfected an uncanny ability to walk in, no matter where they were, the moment Hannibal had cornered his husband, hot flesh in teeth and hands. 

He had last touched Will, palming him through jeans, neck covered in bite marks, who had been moaning loudly in his mouth to be taken right there in the fucking garden, before being rudely interrupted by Nigel grousing about a lack of liquor, boredom, and suggesting they could amuse Will together. 

That was four days, six hours, and twenty three minutes ago. 

_And he was starving._

Hannibal cursed in six different languages, fingers playfully twisting the fly of his trousers. 

On the Sainted Mother’s Soul, he would serve Nigel up in bite sized tiny pieces, if his father had not made him promise to look after the foul mouthed miscreant. He briefly, with the upmost contemplation, entertained the idea of fucking Will unconscious on the steps of the _Doria Pamhili_ , if it would not certainly lead to their arrest and immediate extradition. 

“Incorrigible boy.” Pooling blood lifted, famished, fair brow arching. The older man smoothed a thigh, palm settling in a pleasing dip of a back, respectable enough placing for the general public. Will deserved a sound swat. He suspected it would be frowned upon, more so than this young thing writhing in his lap, hands and mouth seeking. His free hand discreetly roamed beneath a loose t-shirt in the front. He circled a bud nipple and flicked. “Your punishment will be more severe for this,” He reminded low.

 _How lovely your flesh will look, thighs spread, crimson blooming with every strike._  
  
Will groaned, eyelids hooding. He slid fingers through burnished silver, tugging to arch a fine throat, sending shivers down a spine as hot lips met a smooth jaw and bit hard. “Yeah?" Nails sank into his thigh. He laughed softly and bent closer to taste ragged breathing. "Why don’t you tell me all about it?”  


*  
  
It was exquisite. Dew glistened. Quivering with his caress. Unfurling. Finch yellow stamen dusting pollen beneath buffed nails. 

“If you’re searching for something as gorgeous as you, let me tell you now, it’s a lost cause.” An unfamiliar voice, a deep cool jade, called, drawing closer, and breathed—clove and cheap tobacco wafting—over his left shoulder. “Because you’re fucking perfect.” 

Elias whirled around, blinking hard. “H-hann…?” He quirked his head, high sun eclipsed by a shadowy figure. “T-t-thank you. I think?” 

“You’re welcome, I know.” The shadow purred. 

He squinted. It was uncanny. He could be Hannibal’s duplicate. If Hannibal was slightly taller, ripped in muscle, tattooed, had broken his nose a dozen times, and chain smoked offbrand of the lowest offbrand cigarettes since youth. He had the same eyes though. Darker maybe. Cordial laced poison. Dangerous. 

Elias' spine molded to marble wall and swallowed hard. “Need to be going. My—“

A palm wrapped in medical tape and gauze fell on his shoulder. A shiver curled his toes. He pressed into the wall for support and resumed breathing.

Sparks hissed to life. “Parents?” Glowed cherry. “Friends?” Embers drifted from a bud. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend?” The man peered down the length of a crooked nose, smoking curling from nostrils, gaze hazy. “Are waiting.” He suggested after another drag. “I could wait with you. Keep you company. There are a lot of bad men out here. Shouldn’t be alone. Buy you a drink, angelic one?” 

His eyes darted behind the man. “N-no, thank you.” 

In the distance, Hannibal and Will were where he had left them beneath the shade of tri-colored umbrellas at a patio. He had wandered off to give them privacy of bickering over what he was certain was not the heat or choice of drinks, restless in his wait for Peter with their afternoon lunch. Except now they were entwined in a single chair, lost to passion, and careless of his whereabouts or pointed glares of strangers. He sighed in his mouth. It figured. Their arguments were never what they sounded like. There was only so much terse faux politeness and tedium one could endure before politely being excused and shouting 'for the love of all that is unholy, please fuck already!'

Elias bit his lip, flush creeping up the back of his neck, tinting his cheeks. They were absolutely no help what so ever! If they had simply made up the previous night, they might have cared enough that he was about to be kidnapped, or kissed (a prospect far worse for the stranger. Will had ended up face down in a pile of broken glass for a well placed jibe and embrace in the beginning) and they didn't even have the decency to glance his way!

Throaty laughter warmed his forehead. "Anyone ever tell you how fucking cute you are pissed off and scrunching your nose?"

The young man jerked his attention upward. The stranger was a breath away from him, gaze darkening.

Nicotine stained fingers tilted a soft jaw up. “Must hurt.”

His phone vibrated three times in his back pocket. 

“Huh?” Wide lavender eyes wavered. 

Nigel leaned in, palm on a stone wall, and exhaled blue grey smoke over his shoulder. He smiled, twirling a freshly plucked camellia rose from a lovely pink stained brow to freckle dotted cheeks, and traced a bitten cupid’s bow. A blush deepened. “To have fallen from heaven.” 

*

Four cell phones between them and not a goddamn one of them was answering. 

Figures. It really fucking did. 

That Hannibal and Will would rise early, stealing the love of his life from their twin bed in the hotel room _and_ expect him to be the provider of sustenance no less, a mid-day brunch to be acquired in a restaurant without knowledge of the language, from a city he had set foot in yesterday. 

_I ought to be grateful they gave me a goddamn landmark circled on a map to growl at the cabbie._  
  
Peter had woken to a mouthful of pillow instead of a wing tipped shoulder. Cold sheets instead of glistening skin wrapping him close. Exquisitely hard from three days without relief as they traveled. A neatly folded city map where his boy should have been. Greedy and moaning and sweetly arcing beneath him. He had skipped any attempt at ordering take out at a restaurant and instead took a thirty minute ice shower.

 _And when I find Will, he is going to pay with his pretty fucking teeth._  
  
He muscled through a blinding assortment of loud floral prints, straw hats, and iPhones recording every second of some tourist's vapid existence. He fought upstream to a massive stone building, the gallery he guessed, biting back curses, adjusting dark glasses on his nose when they began to slip from rising heat.  
  
He was hot. Thirsty. Hungry. Starved for something he had only found between slender thighs.  
  
That's when he saw his sweet boy. His ever waking siren call of innocence, all light eyes and lovely plush lips.

With another man.  
  
An older man. Black button up, rolled over thick gold arms. Pressing that slender body to a wall, admiring the arch of hips, tilting, to keep balanced. Silver hair fell in dark eyes, chin tipping, to better watch the trail a blooming rose was taking from nose to mouth, the curve of a creamy throat, falling abruptly, caressing a perfect quivering stomach exposed by the tiniest t-shirt and shorts Peter had ever seen.  
  
The world distorted. Colorless. Sound on mute. Blood rushing in his ears. His vision blanked.  
  
Gnarled shirt collar in hand, Peter slammed the stranger against the wall where Elias had been pressed a moment ago. "Get your hands off my fucking partner!"  
  
Hot whiskey gaze scanned him from toes to hair, glinting. "Now just a second, gorgeous."  
  
An arm was twisted behind his back. His cheek flattened to stone. Peter gasped as a bulky frame melded to his spine.  
  
"We can share," The man purred in the crook of a throat.  
  
He wrenched an arm free and swung.  
  
"Peter, no! Peter, Peter! Oh, Will, Will, Will!" _  
_

*

“You were told to watch him! That was the deal. The promise you made that if I was not around, he was in your care! Your protection!” Someone roared, frosted table rattling louder and louder with a banging fist.  
  
"Calm yourself. You are drawing attention!"  
  
"Let go of me, you dick! I swear to Christ on a cross, I shouldn't have to tell you to watch him too, old man!"  
  
“I was told to _watch_ , yes, but you have made it explicitly clear never to touch him.” One chair wobbled. Another tipped. A third. Will fell in to it, mouth split in a toothy grin, and watched violence descend, hands held high in mock surrender. “And removing him from the situation would have required an awful lot of touching, Peter.” 

Grey ash littered a potted cyprus. “Probably a lot less than what I did.”

Whirlwind fury whipped the opposite direction. “I’m going to break every bone in your body.” 

“You will not." Hannibal stepped in Peter's direct path, eyes narrowed to slits, smile terse and brittle. "Sit down this instant.” 

“You should listen to your old man,” Nigel snickered, wiping blood from the corner of a busted lip.

Hannibal slicked his teeth and bared them at Nigel. "You have over stayed your welcome," He ground out with a widening smile.

Silken consonants thundered, pelting the man beneath. 

“Sorry in English. Or Romanian.” Nigel effortlessly ducked, twisting a fist mid-air, and bringing knuckles against his lips. He smoothed a kiss over them. He looked up at Peter, smirking. “Though I might be content to listen to whatever comes from that mouth given the right circumstances.” 

“Who _the fuck_ are you?” The blonde shouted, fist swinging.

Another side step. For lack of better judgement, Hannibal caught Peter around the waist and snarled something low in his ear. The blonde visibly clenched his jaw and shook free.

Nigel let his gaze travel the length of the lovely creature snarling threats, gorgeous filth slurring, luscious gold hair coiled high, irises the barrel of a barreta, commanding his undivided attention—at the moment—there was truly too much to admire on all sides. Unrivaled beauty could kill a man. The last tendril of smoke curled from a smirk. “Charmed, evidently.”

“Peter, it wasn’t—“ Elias clutched a heaving chest, burying his face on a spine, peppering it with glancing kisses.

Peter whirled, gold curls loosing and spiraling in his wake, halo of a fallen angel. “ _And you!”_

In a single thundering swoop, Peter wrapped bare legs on his waist and pinned Elias to a stone archway, palms thrust beneath a blue and white stripped crop top, kneading denim shorts. His mouth followed in quick, breathless pursuit. 

Will gazed at their entanglement longingly, blood heating, wishing he had thought to ask it of Hannibal moments before. Peter would have to thank him later. For the ridiculous purchase of summer clothes for the priest. And for the claw marks he would have on his back later. Now. Where the fuck was their food?  
  
A reedy moan spilled.  
  
The last of the older man’s wine, drained drop by drop, stifled laughter.

“Is this amusing you!” Hannibal scowled, gaze shifting from an empty glass to Will, teeth grinding.

_Rude._

“Honestly, yes. This is the first time in a year I haven’t been blamed. It’s nice to see everyone else being threatened for once.” 

Nigel cradled a knee and brushed his way to an ankle, lifting Will's leg to rest in his lap, boldly tracing fair skin. “If you needed a hand all you had to do was ask.” 

“Control yourself.” Hannibal snarled, hitting the offensive thing off Will’s leg, and shot his husband a death glare for safe measure. “William. You are the very cause of this current debacle and will repay every moment lost of this beautiful city!”

Will nearly spit wine and began laughing again, doubled over, holding his side. God, he was infuriating as he was beautiful! 

Hannibal disentangled the lovers, one still mewling, even as he cuffed them and forced them to sit like the genteel he knew they could be. On the occasion they felt so inclined. Flanking opposite sides of Will to keep Nigel's roaming hands, though not his eyes (perhaps they ought to be removed as well) at a distance.   
  
Nigel shook his head and lit another cigarette. "You are as prim and stuck up as I remember," He mumbled around a filter. "You are ruining a perfectly good fucking view."

“Peter. Elias.” The older man snapped dust off his jacket before sliding it on and motioned dismissively to his left. “This is my insufferable relation by blood, Nigel. Fourth cousin. He is unfortunately unwell and staying with us for the time being.”

“Never far enough removed.”

“Quite. Though that could be arranged.” 

“I really prefer to be the one doing the eating out, darling.” 

Elias looked between Nigel and Hannibal, eyes growing wide, everything clicking. “ _Oh_ you’re related! The resemblance makes sense now.”

“What resemblance?” Hannibal scoffed, turning up his nose and straightening his tie. 

“Nearly twins. By aesthetics only.” Nigel cast a long gaze at Will, then Elias. “In case you’re thinking you want to be fucked by both of us later.” 

Peter jerked forward. Will and Hannibal both clamped hands on his shoulder, growling shared frustration. Nigel smiled sweetly beneath a cloud of smoke.

“You will die a slow, agonizing death if you continue, cousin.” 

“And your body will be so beat to a bloody pulp, even darling Will won’t be able to identify you.” 

“ _Fuck_.” Someone muttered under their breath. 

Will was staring pointedly at hands clasped tightly over his lap, flush seeping from his cheeks to his throat, and swallowed, visibly hard from the exchange.

“Honestly, Will!” Hannibal threw a linen napkin on the table, chair scraping, and stalked off in the direction of streaming cars to hail a taxi, with Will close on his heels, muttering profuse apologies. "Fifteen!" The older man growled, curtly flagging down a taxi.

"Fifteen!" Will shouted, hands thrown in the air. "Now wait just a-"

Nigel howled laughter, calling out between ragged breaths, in broken Lithuanian. “He’s a goddamn beauty, swears like a fucking _Cammora_ , and gets off on threats and violence. How did you get so lucky, cousin!”

Peter stood slowly and towered over the stranger, silver daggers grating flint stones. “If you even look at Elias again.” 

“The love, am I right?” Nigel grinned and extended his good hand, unlit cigarette poised, offered for the man to take. Peter stared for a full minute before accepting it, glow of a flame ringing his irises."Makes us all insane."

"You are overreacting! It was just a bit of fun." Came a heated growl.

By the enticing red of Will's cheeks, they appeared to be in the most polite argument he had every seen. The serene symbol of a married man's patience waning. Except for the almost conspicuous tick of the older man's jaw clenching, eyes blood red. Nigel had seen men torn apart for far less in their youth. Which begged the question: how the hell was Will still standing?

_So someone figured out how to bind and temper the beast after all._

Hannibal could graciously shower him with continuously flowing whiskey for the bruising Will would no doubt be receiving behind closed doors.

Nigel walked the two lovers to the cab, passing the driver a wad of bills. He could pay the man handsomely, earning an increment of goodwill with his hosts before torturing them again, or blow it on coke. He supposed he needed a safe bed to sleep more than a high. At least for another week. When the mafia and every other fucking person on this planet, like goddamn Countryman, wasn’t trying to kill him. Including his wife.

_Until death do us fucking part._

His fingers curled to loose fists, bile and ash stinging the back of his throat.

_Might even let Hannibal perform open heart surgery if he is feeling generous. He can have the goddamn thing. Fuck, it would probably hurt less._

Elias wrung hands and looked up at Nigel, brow creased in perpetual confusion, and stuck out a palm politely. “Nice to meet you?”

Peter yanked the priest through the door and into his lap before they could shake, lip hitched in a snarl. It melted moments later. Elias straddled long limbs and smothered further swearing and threats with his pretty little mouth. Nigel was fairly certain he could be trained to mute his temper and shut his trap with something that enticing within constant reach too. Perhaps he would ask for a lesson. Later.

“The pleasure was mine.” Nigel let out a gruff laugh, leaning haphazardly on the car's frame, cigarette hanging enviously. He had to admire possession, as much as he admired love, and beauty, ah, but the love. He winked at Elias and turned quickly before Peter could grasp a handful of him, not that he was opposed, bloody nose or otherwise. They could pursue that and any other line of inquiry after dessert. He glided passed Will and Hannibal who were still bickering in terse whispers. “And beautiful,” He called to no one in particular. “I’ll see you at the villa for family dinner.” 

All four men, inwardly and outwardly, groaned as the idling cab pulled from the curb.

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly just a dumb idea that popped in to head as a warm up exercise/gift for my sweetheart patrons. Might write another little drabble chapter to go with it some day.


End file.
